


Inopportune Karma

by Moonlite_Knight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crossover, Floo Network, Gen, Harry gets mistaken for Kid, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Language Barrier, Mistaken Identity, and it's funny, because no one knows what Kid really looks like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlite_Knight/pseuds/Moonlite_Knight
Summary: He was in the wrong place, in the wrong country, in the wrong building at the very wrong time. It was official. Harry loathed traveling by Floo.





	1. The Wrong Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Several months after the final chapter of DH (epilogue excluded) for HP. No set time for MK, really, except for after Hakuba shows up.

At the tender age of nineteen, Harry Potter realized that he was rather bored with his current lifestyle. It was probably a given that after facing much terror and adventure every year since his introduction to the magical world, life as an unemployed and unofficial mascot of the wizarding world would seem a bit mundane. Somewhat dull. Just plain _boring_.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t received any job offers after vanquishing Voldemort; despite his decision to not return to Hogwarts to complete his schooling, he had received more requests than he cared to count. It was just that very few of the offers really appealed to him in any way. The fact that a majority of them revolved mainly around using his image to promote various products was a bit of a turn off as well.

Harry sighed and turned back to his mirror, running a comb through it in one last attempt to get his mop of hair to behave. It hadn’t worked thus far, but he figured he had to get lucky at least once in his lifetime. But it seemed that today was not to be that day. The unruly strands at the top of his head popped right back up, appearing as though there had not had a comb run repeatedly through them for the past ten minutes.

Giving up for the time being, Harry tossed the comb down and studied his reflection. He looked…passable. His hair was probably his worst feature at the moment, but there was little he could do about that. Even if he was willing to overlook the fact that people like Malfoy seemed to literally bathe their hair in gel, he had no time to go and buy some for himself.

Ah well, he was just going to have to leave for the job interview with a mop masquerading as his hair. Hopefully, his interviewers wouldn’t care too much about the untidiness. After all, how much could an organization that wanted assistants willing to camp out in the remote rainforests of the Amazon care about personal hygiene?

Slightly cheered at the thought of the hopefully upcoming journey, Harry turned away from the mirror to toss a few of the items that he needed to bring with him to the interview into his bag, such as, for example, the bloody passport that had taken him ages to get. In his opinion, the thing was useless since the group would be taking a Portkey to the jungle. But due to international issues and things that only Hermione actually understood, he needed one. Though it would definitely be worth the trouble if it got him out of Europe for a while.

Hermione and Ron weren’t entirely happy about the fact that the only job that had remotely interested him would require him to leave the country for months at an end, but they hadn’t put up too much of a fight when he told them of his decision. They understood that he needed some time to straighten out his mind and that it was near impossible for him to do so in a place where just about everything reminded him of the war. They understood that he needed to do something that got the adrenaline pumping through his veins and made him feel useful. They understood all of that. They just couldn’t understand why he had to do all of this in a remote jungle, for Merlin‘s sake.

Truthfully, Harry hadn’t expected them to. Try as they might, they just couldn’t understand how he was feeling now that everything was peaceful. Yes, he was glad to no longer be going around looking over his shoulder for snake-obsessed homicidal maniacs; that was definitely one of the major positive points of peace. But, despite all the tranquility in his life now, Harry just felt a bit…lost.

The war was over, done with, in the past. Everyone was moving on with their lives, picking up the pieces, and looking ahead. But the thing was, Harry just couldn’t do any of that. He couldn’t pick up his life where he had left it off, not for lack of trying though. He had spent well over a month trying to rekindle interest in the things that he had had before the war only to end up chucking them all out the window. The war had changed him.

Being an Auror no longer appealed to him, becoming a Quidditch player was out of the question while uncaught Death Eaters still hid in the shadows, and, well, he really couldn’t think of anything that he _wanted_ to do. Except figure out what he wanted to do. And that was why he was trying out for this job, he reminded himself as he zipped up the bag. He wasn’t running away, he was simply taking a break. To a jungle. Where he would have very little communication with the outside world.

It’s for the best, Harry told himself with a quick glance at the clock on the wall. He just needed some time to relax and think and then he could move on like everyone else had. Digging into the front pocket of his bag as he made his way over to the fireplace, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper that contained the location of the place where the interview was taking place.

If given a choice, Harry would much rather simply Apparate to the building, but it was located somewhere in Russia. He’d never attempted international Apperation before, he wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but he had no wish to try to find out today. And since it would take much too long by broomstick, and he really did not want to deal with the hassle of getting a Portkey approved, his only choice was to travel by Floo. Well, he could suffer through the Merlin knew how many hours on a plane, but somehow, Floo seemed safer than traveling on a big metal thing. But it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t care for it. At all.

Committing the name to memory, Harry stuffed the paper into his pocket and grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and tossed it into the fireplace. Emerald flames burst into existence as the powder hit the burnt wood from last night’s fire. Harry took a breath and promptly choked.

One would think that by know he would remember to breathe _before_ throwing the bloody powder, but unfortunately, wherever Floo was concerned, everything that could go wrong for Harry usually did.

Coughing, he brought up a hand to block his mouth and nose from inhaling any more smoke, and in the process of doing so, knocked his bag into the shelves above the mouth of the fireplace which absorbed the blow and promptly threw off the container of powder, right into the flames. Green fire roared upwards, higher than Harry was sure was safe. He tried to step back, but his glasses were black from soot from the sudden flames and, he realized a second too late that he had somehow gotten turned around and was actually taking a step forward. Straight into the fireplace.

Harry’s thoughts on that little matter, which really could not be repeated in polite company, were garbled out as he shouted and threw out his arms to stop himself from entering the Floo gateway. The sensation of being spun around and around told him quite clearly that he had failed. He barely had time to clutch his bag closer to him before he was thrown violently out onto a cold, hard wooden floor.

Coughing out curses and soot, Harry angrily shoved himself upright, ignoring the nausea the movement aroused. Damn it, where in Merlin’s name had he ended up now? Memories of his first ever trip by Floo fresh in his mind, Harry ignored the soot and cracks on his glasses and tried to take in as much of his surroundings as he could.

It was dark but he could see enough to tell that, wherever he had ended up, was devoid of human life. That was a relief. The last thing he needed at the moment was to have to deal with the Ministry for shocking a family of Muggles by dropping out of their fireplace. Actually, he squinted his eyes in an attempt to look past the soot, the place looked as though it had been deserted for a while now.

The boxes piled in one corner were definitely encased by dust and the only window seemed to be boarded up. There was also a significant lack of any furniture or anything that would mark the place as lived in. In fact, if he wasn’t way off the mark, then this was probably a warehouse. An abandoned warehouse.

Quickly fixing his glasses and brushing off as much of the soot stuck to him as he could, Harry tried to figure out what to do. Merlin, this just had to happen on the day of his interview didn’t it, he thought as he ran a hand through his messier-than-before hair. He groaned. He was going to miss his meeting and lose the job.

“Damn Floo,” He grumbled, kicking dust into the empty fireplace, holding a faint hope that the dust would ignite the flames required for him to get out of here and to his interview. No such luck. The only thing the act accomplished was to rile up the dust and start him coughing again.

By the time Harry managed to regain control of his breathing, he was wishing that he had taken his chances on a plane instead. Death by air sounded much better on a gravestone then death by dust bunnies.

Morose thoughts aside however, he really needed to get out of here…wherever here was. It suddenly occurred to Harry that he couldn’t Apparate home, not without knowing where he currently was. Floo was also out of the question, a quick glance to the empty fireplace affirmed. And he didn’t even have a pager or those fancy new communicating cells that Hermione had forced him to get. He’d left them at home, thinking them useless in a remote forest. In short, Harry was more or less stranded.

This really wasn’t his day.

Picking up his bag which was thankfully still intact and slinging it over a shoulder, he began searching for a way out, all the while wishing that he knew a spell that would help him out right now. Or, better yet, that Hermione was here. She’d know what to do. Then again, if she was here Harry wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. The best he could do right now, he decided, was head in one direction and keep going until he ended up at the front door. He’d have to hit it sooner or later.

Ignoring the voice reprimanding him in the back of his mind about the lack of stability in his plan, he made his way out of the room to a dark hallway that was just as the dark as the room he had arrived in. Fortunately, his eyes had adjusted to the dimness by this point, so he managed to make his way through the hall and down a staircase with very little trouble. If he hurried, then maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to get to the interview before the office closed.

Halfway across the second hallway, Harry glanced at the ceiling and frowned. He was sure that he had just heard something, the faintest of thuds, as though someone was walking. He halted and listened for the noise again, every sense on alert. Only now had it occurred to him that while the building looked abandoned, but it didn’t necessarily mean that it was. It would be just his luck to have landed in the middle of a drug joint.

A minute passed, and then another, but Harry didn’t hear the thuds again. Maybe he was just hearing things. This place looked pretty old, it was probably just wood settling or such. He really was getting paranoid, Harry admitted to himself as he made his way down the hallway to the only door that had light peeping out from underneath it. Mad-Eye would be proud.

He opened the door with a sigh and was nearly blinded by the light.

“ _Yamete Kid!”_

If the light hadn’t already halted him, then the foreign shout certainly would have. Frozen in the bright spotlight, Harry could only blink several times in an attempt to clear away the spots dancing in his vision. Even after they faded, he still had to squint to see what was going on. The bloody light was really hurting his eyes, by the way. Why couldn’t they move it already?

When he finally did make out what was in front of him, he had to blink several more times just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Because, surely, there was not what looked to be an entire squad of policemen camped in front of the building that he had just exited, each with their guns trained on him.

He summed up the entire situation with one very well chosen word.

“Huh?” 


	2. The Wrong Building

Harry was starting to think that he most likely had landed in the middle of a drug raid after all. Given his luck, it probably wasn’t entirely a far-fetched bet. And it would certainly explain why he currently had all those guns pointed at him.

He slowly started to raise his hands, fully intending to surrender quietly. Surprisingly, all the policemen flinched, and the man who had shouted before said something again. Harry didn’t have a bloody clue what (was the man talking in Chinese? It was definitely something Asian) and started to tell him that. But before he had a chance to even open his mouth, the man yelled again and a few of the policemen took a step closer, guns drawn, and pointed at him.

This was not good.

So, Harry did what any other Gryffindor would have done in such a situation. He acted on instinct.

He took one large step backward and slammed the door shut. Then he turned around and ran.

Upon later contemplation, that was perhaps not the best way to deal with the situation. In his defense though, he was a Gryffindor through and through, despite all his Slytherin tendencies. He didn’t have time to think of some sneaky, sly way to deal with a troop of armed policemen coming towards him. And the first thing that came to mind when he saw guns aimed at him was to run in the opposite direction and pray that they didn’t fire. So that’s what he did.

Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please don’t shoot, he chanted in his mind as he raced down the hallway as though his life depended on it. It probably would if the policemen decided to start shooting. Luckily though, no bullets came hurtling through the air after him. Unluckily, as a quick glance back revealed, several policemen, Loud Man included, did.

The small part of his mind, the portion that had actually listened to Hermione in the past, chose that moment to tell him that resisting arrest would only worsen his predicament. Never mind the fact that he had done nothing wrong in the first place. Well, aside from perhaps breaking and entering, but that had been a complete and unluckily accident. In other words, really not his fault.

Harry tore up the first staircase that he saw, the officers hot on his tail. Heading up wasn’t the best idea, but it was better than staying on the ground floor where he could be easily blocked in on all sides.

He ran down the dark hallway, only his reflexes toned from Quidditch practice and the war, keeping him from tripping and falling flat on his face. Behind him, he could hear the officers stumbling and shouting in that language of theirs. Damn it, if only there were a few less of them. Then he could simply take out his wand and _Stupefy_ the lot of them before wiping their memories.

But he couldn’t, he reminded himself as he kicked down a stack of empty crates behind him.

Not only would the Ministry love to have a chance like that to get him in their clutches, but there were just too many of them. He couldn’t hit every policeman at once, and chances of them opening fire on him if he tried to pick them off one by one were high. Losing them somewhere in the warehouse was his best bet for now.

He rounded the corner and dove behind the first large enough crate that he saw, hoping to buy himself some time. He tucked himself in tight, his back pressed against the wood, maneuvering his bag so that it lay in his lap. It was dark enough that the officers wouldn’t notice him, but just in case, he held still.

“Come on, think, think,” he muttered under his breath, searching his mind for a spell that could at least distract the police. Nothing came to mind. Darn it, where were Hermione’s big brains when he needed truly them?

He could hear the officers talking just on the other side of his crate, no doubt cursing at having lost sight at him. He recognized Loud Man’s voice, as he barked out something that sent the other men hurrying away. The loud officer, however, stayed put though, as his grumbling and footsteps revealed. He sounded really close; Harry was willing to bet the man was just on the other side of his crate.

Harry was really starting to wish that he hadn’t run now. So what if they had guns pointed at him? They hadn’t shot once, not even after he ran. He should have just let them arrest him, take him down to the lockup, and then explained the misunderstanding there. Or he could have just surrendered and then sorted things out then. Either way, running was the stupidest thing he could have done.

He was still busy mentally berating himself when the smell of smoke reached him. For one crazy moment, Harry was certain that the police had set the warehouse on fire in an awful attempt to smoke him out. Then he realized that there was no way they would do that when at least one of their own was inside.

Hang on a second, Loud Man was alone…

Harry jumped up, his wand drawn and pointed it at the first thing that moved.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

The lighter flew out of the of the unsuspecting officer’s hand, the small flame blinking out of existence as it bounced off the floor, as the man slammed into the wall in front of him. Harry winced in sympathy but didn’t stop to see if he was conscious or not. Lucky for him, the man had had his back to him, so he probably hadn’t seen the wand. So, hopefully, there wasn’t a squad of angry foreign Ministry people coming to arrest him for attacking and performing magic in front of a muggle. _Please_ don’t let there be a squad of angry foreign Ministry people coming to arrest him.

Harry was seriously starting to wish that he had never seen that job ad in the paper.

He peeked around the corner, and, after making sure there were no police lurking about, rushed over to the stairs at the end of the hallway. With any luck this would lead to the roof, or better yet, he’d wake up and realize that this as just one bad dream and that he had hours to get ready for his interview. Yeah, right.

He was halfway up the stairs when a loud shout echoed through the hallway followed by more yells. Harry winced and sped up. Seems like they’d found their boss. He grabbed the dusty knob of the door at the top and the stairs and tugged.

The door opened easily, and Harry immediately rushed in, kicking it shut behind him. He quickly pulled out his wand and magically locked it. That should buy him someone time at least, though he wasn’t all that sure how effective _Colloportus_ would be if the cops decided to just ram the door down.

Then he turned around and froze.

The clear night sky was spread out in front of him, only blocked slightly from view by the buildings that rose up to it. Stars dotted the dark blue and the moon was full enough to provide him with enough light to see where he was.

Which was a rooftop. A bloody _rooftop_.

And, as the loud thuds and shouts of the policemen growing louder behind him clearly indicated, the only other place for him to go now was down. Harry hurried over to the edge and glanced down. The flashing lights of the police cars, a good thirty or so feet down, were all he could see.

In other words, he was much too high to even consider jumping. And he couldn’t go back the way he came. Wonderful, what was he supposed to do now? Should he risk Apparating?

The door abruptly flew off its hinges, clattering to a halt just a few feet away from him, before Harry even had the chance to reach a decision.

He turned around in time to see the policemen rush in and instantly train their guns on him. The loud man, slightly disheveled and at the front of the group, shouted again, and once again Harry didn’t understand a word. He got the gist of the message though. Letting his bag slide off his shoulder and fall down next to him, he raised his hands and folded them behind in head in the universal sign for admitting defeat.

“I surrender?” he said weakly, more as a question then as a statement.

Harry wasn’t sure really what he expected to happen next, but having the policemen simply gape at him instead of rushing forward and arresting him was definitely not it.


	3. The Wrong Country

Harry stood there, hands awkwardly raised in the air, for what seemed like hours before any of the police officers decided to move. Even then they did so slowly, cautiously, inching their way towards him with utmost care. It was as though they were making their way towards a time bomb or a very dangerous criminal. Harry was obviously neither of these but the fact that they were treating him as one did not help matters at all. Whatever they thought he did could not be good. 

Despite his relative’s claims and beliefs, everything he had done in school, and all the rules and laws he had broken over the years, Harry had even actually been arrested by a uncorrupt, legit police force before. He’d come close, many times, but he’d always managed to escape with his freedom intact. He’d never actually had to spend a night in jail, and honestly, he had no desire to start now in some foreign country.

The head policeman barked something at Harry, his words incomprehensible but his tone clearly suspicious. Harry had no idea what the man wanted. He’d surrendered, hadn’t he? Weren’t the police supposed to arrest him now instead of gawking at him? The man said something again, something like anger mixed in with the suspicion now and made a strange motion with his arm. It looked like a cross between chopping the air and plucking something out of it.

It was then that Harry made his second mistake of the night.

He started to lower his hands. In his defense, he’d been holding them over his head for nearly five minutes at that point, and his arms were getting tired.

“Ow!”

Almost instantly there was a slight prickling sensation at the side of his neck. On reflex, Harry smacked a hand onto the tingling area. His first thought was that he’d been shot, but the police officers collective flinch at the sudden movement was enough to dispel that thought. Naturally, his thoughts turned to mosquitoes next. It was only when his view of the advancing police began to blur that he realized that he hadn’t been bitten by a blood-sucking pest. Oh bugger, this not good.

The head police became a large blue blur as he shouted again and rushed towards him, the other policemen on his tail. Panicked, Harry stumbled involuntarily backward, arms flailing wildly about for something to grab onto. The world kept shifting between blurs of white and black and spun in and out of focus as he struggled to keep his balance.

He failed.

Thankfully though, he blacked out just after the back of his feet met the knee-high barriers of the roof and so he did not have to bear witness to gravity pulling him over the edge. He did, however, have to experience several frightening seconds of that horrible gut-wrenching sensation that came with free fall before succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

When Harry woke up an undeterminable amount of time later, he was immediately aware of two things. The first was that the entire world was still a vague, bright blur. A quick check revealed that his glasses were gone. Damn.

The second thing he realized was that he wasn’t a pancake on the street. Which meant someone had thankfully caught him before he went over. Just as he reached that conclusion, he became aware of a throbbing pain in right hand. He pulled back his sleeve and lifted his arm up to his nose. He could just make out blurred bruising in the outline of a, Harry squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly, a hand?

He moved his arm closer and studied it. Not just a hand, he realized. There was more bruising, an ugly blue, and spread out from his wrist to a couple of inches below his elbow. The odd thing was that the bruises themselves were thin and almost ropelike. Definitely not a hand.

Weird.

Harry let his arm fall into his lap as he turned his attention to the room he was in, trying to make out the room he was in. As far as he could tell, he was in an empty, well-light room, seated at a bare, wood table.

Good.

Alone meant that he could use magic. Damn the risks, he was Apparating out of here _now_. Harry reached for his wand planning to not to waste any time, only to discover that it wasn’t there. Harry had a brief moment of utter panic before he realized that the police had probably searched him and taken it. Why they had taken what to them should have appeared to be plain, thin stick was a mystery.

Harry groaned, resting his forehead on the table.

This was just _not_ his day.

The door swung open abruptly with a loud bang, jerking Harry out of his thoughts. He sat up and squinted at the doorway. He was just able to make out the outline of what he was almost positive was the head policeman.

The man said something as he came into the room. It sounded almost like he was gloating. Harry wasn’t sure why. He’d surrendered of his own free will. It wasn’t like the police had trapped and caught him themselves. 

The policeman seated himself across the table from Harry and put something, Harry was pretty sure it was a file, on the table between them. He said something again, and again, Harry didn’t understand.

“Er, sorry,” Harry said, squinting hard at the man. “Do you know English?”

The big black thing under the man’s nose, a mustache most likely, wobbled as the man barked something at him. It wasn’t in English.

Harry really wished he had his glasses right now. Though he really doubted anything would make sense even if he could see past the tip of his nose. But it would at least get rid of the headache he was quickly developing from all the strain he was putting on his eyes.

“Listen,” Harry tried again. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake, I—”

He broke off as the officer barked something at him. The words were unfamiliar, but the tone was unmistakable.

_Shut up or I won’t hesitate to throw you in a cell and lock you up for a long time._

Exasperated, Harry crossed his arms and shut his mouth.

The police officer rattled off a row of words, nearly all of which passed completely over Harry’s head. The only one he understood was the one the man seemed exceedingly fond of repeating. ‘Kid.’ It seemed to be the only English word that the man knew.

After the sixth time he was called kid, Harry broke his silence.

“I am _not_ a kid!” he insisted indignantly. Yes he looked young for his age, but that was no reason to label him a child. He was nineteen for Merlin’s sake and legally an adult.

The officer didn’t seem to like his answer, judging by his frown. “Kid!”

“No, I’m not a kid!”

“ _Hai_ , Kid!”

Harry contemplated risking a translation spell for a brief moment before discarding the idea. Even if he somehow managed to cast the spell nonverbally, he wouldn’t be able to explain how he could suddenly understand and speak Japanese. If fact, suddenly speaking Japanese would most likely just make them more suspicious of him.

The policeman nodded, apparently taking Harry’s lack of protest as acceptance to being called a kid. He’d moved on to trying to communicate something else to Harry.

It took Harry several minutes to decide that the man was miming an airplane taking off. Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

He slumped in his seat, turning his gaze upwards, pleadingly. “Does _anyone_ here speak English?”

“I do.”

Jerking upright, Harry turned to the doorway where the voice had come from.

The speaker took a step forward, into the light. It was a blurry blond and brown teen. By squinting, Harry was able to tell that the brown blur was a very odd, old-fashioned coat. From his posture, he could tell that the teen was a lot more at ease at being in an investigation room then Harry was.

Though what was a teenager doing in an investigation room anyway? Harry glanced at the officer who had been grilling him. The man didn’t seem to be surprised. In fact, his expression, what Harry could make out anyway, was a mixture of relief and annoyance.

The blond ignored the officer and focused his attention on Harry.

“Saguru Hakuba.” he introduced himself in a slightly accented voice. “Now, will you please drop the act and admit your connection to the international phantom thief Kid?”

Harry opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, realizing that he really had no answer to offer the teen. On second thought, maybe the communication problem had actually been a blessing in disguise.


End file.
